It’s about time theatre and sport resolve their differences. The long-warring pair have more in common than they realise. If they can’t bury the hatchet, Bloomshed’s uproarious new show, A Dodgeball Named Desire, has a recommendation: they could lob some red balls at one another/
Bloomshed has quickly distinguished itself as one of Melbourne’s premier independent companies with its radical reimaginings of various literary classics – earlier this year, its high-octane production of Animal Farm proved a runaway success. This time, the creative crew have set their sights on Tennessee Williams' 1947 classic A Streetcar Named Desire, moving from their usual home in Northcote Town Hall to convert fortyfivedownstairs into an Olympic-style stadium. It’s soliloquies versus sweat and grand slams versus spotlights in this bombastic battle royale destined to make you laugh and occasionally flinch.
Williams (Tom Molyneux) himself is our umpire, emerging from a bedazzled bathtub to describe the rules of the game. It’s a dodgeball tournament like no other. The reward? Bragging rights and an Arts Australia grant. In one corner there’s Southern belle, Blanche DuBois.
Her skills include having a tragic backstory, haunted eyes and a white gown pulled from "the bargain bin of Opera Australia" (the costumes by Samantha Hastings, who doubles as the on-site medic, are beautifully rendered). Played by three performers (Elizabeth Brennan, Laura Aldous and Anna Louey) with an exaggerated Southern drawl, DuBois projectile vomits, gives monologues and fans herself in the New Orleans heat. On the other side, there’s Stanley Kowalski and his team. They’re just trying to win a dodgeball game, really.
This is a skillful troupe of performers at the peak of their powers and they’ve managed to pack a lot into an hour. In between the dodgeball matches there are romantic side plots, press-conference apologies and a Kate Bush-inspired half-time show all underscored by haunting New Orleans jazz and anthemic pop hits. Unpredictable and often violent, the rounds of dodgeball are rollicking good fun. And, if you’re game, there’s an opportunity to try your hand at a match.
Still, it’s not as slick as the company’s previous hits. The reason the team has chosen Williams' script is unclear, apart from it working as an easy shorthand for theatre and its pretensions. Moments when Blanche seemed to force the game into her theatrical world view – demanding ‘blue lighting’ or breaking all pretense to attack Williams for the way she’s been written – were electric. But the show is ultimately quite thin thematically.
More could be made of the team of athletes. The two warring camps share more than they’d care to admit. Watch a ref disagree with a player, and there’ll be theatrics in no time. A dramatic post-show interview or violent kick-off with the umpire was a camp testament to sport’s inherent love of theatrical spectacle. But these are minor quibbles for a show that has charm and wit in spades, and is grounded by an ensemble that works together like a well-oiled machine.
By the end, there’s only one Blanche DuBois left standing. Alone, she rallies against a sea of red rubber balls, the archetypical Williams underdog. It’s a surprisingly affecting moment, and the show smartly chooses to play it straight. Nestled in a tight spotlight, her final monologue rises above the show’s ironic premise to offer a touch of theatrical magic. Even if she’s lost the game, she’s won the war.